At least there is one thing he understands
by phobosapollo
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is not dense. Ok, so maybe he is. He totally is. But dammit all, he understands love.


Aloha! So I Finally, FINALLY am getting back to writing. On my own, at least. And I swear to God, I'll probably end up taking this down after a while, but pepperpizzapal, that bullying man, has me under threat of death by he'll-think-of-it-when-he-stops-being-lazy unless I start writing and posting on fanfiction again.

He kinda told me to do this half a year ago (or around that time) but...

Better late then never?

* * *

><p>Alfred F. Jones was not a fool. Ok, so he sorta was. I mean, he couldn't read the atmosphere for shit (he thought it was a book) and he tended to talk to fast for his mind to catch up, so most of what he said was idiotic, and he didn't even realize it till later. But dammit all, if there was one thing that he, the representation of the United States of America understood, it was love.<p>

With a heart bigger then his appetite, Alfred was not afraid to admit he had loved many people, and he loved them with all his being, even if he got hurt in the end. It's how his momma, the first person he had ever loved, had raised him. His momma, who had no true name but that of "Mother", with her soft, lightly bronzed and sun kissed skin, her long ebony hair that felt like corn-silk, and her expressive brown eyes, had taught him to love everyone. She had taught him to love the earth and her fruits, all the animals that inhabited the earth, and all the people who lived with the animals unconditionally. And she also taught him to respect them. And he loved her, with her big heart and never ending supply of stories, and the way she ran her fingers through his hair while she hummed to him and told him about a brother he had never met, who lived in the north.

When she began to die, he had felt a horrible pain in his chest. When he realized he had helped kill her, his heart broke.

From her he learned love of nature and love of man.

The second person he had ever loved was Arthur Kirkland. Sure, his eyebrows were too big (they reminded him of the caterpillars Mother always told him not to bother) and his cooking wasn't as fantastic looking as the strange Frenchman's was (although it was decent tasting) but he was his big brother, and Al loved him. It hurt whenever Arthur left, but every time he came back Al felt his heart soar, and he wondered why he never burst from being so full of happiness.

When Alfred realized he loved this man in a way brothers should not love each other, he insisted that he become independent from the other, as they were not brothers and Alfred could now take care of himself. Arthur fought him every step of the way. The image of him kneeling in the mud, looking like an abandoned rag doll as the rain poured around him, soaking him through to the bones, was burned into the back of Alfred's eyelids. The image haunted his nightmares. And Alfred was ever reminded of that the week of his birthday, when Arthur would refuse to talk to him.

From him he learned about the joys of first love, and the biting sorrow and pain of heartbreak.

The third person to worm their way into Alfred's heart was his brother to the north, Matthew Williams. With him came the fourth, fifth, and sixth, Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, and Gilbert Bielschmidt. Matthew was someone Alfred always wanted to protect, because his brother was so much more shy and peaceful then Alfred. Matthew rarely used his incredible strength like Alfred, and he often got walked all over by other nations. And Alfred hated how easily everyone could just ignore his brother.

With Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, it was a love of camaraderie. The three nations helped Alfred win his independence from Arthur and taught him to be self reliant, and how to fight. Alfred would forever be grateful to them.

From the four of them, Alfred learned love of allies and love of brothers, and he learned what it felt like to always have someone who has your back.

Alfred loved Toris Lorinaitis, next. The man had been outsourced to Alfred in the 20's, and he was such a lovely man. Alfred got a warm feeling in his heart (one that he hadn't felt sine Arthur stopped being his older brother and visiting whenever he could) whenever he came home and Toris was waiting in an apron with a mug of coffee and a smile. The house was always clean, and Alfred always had good food to eat, and he always had someone to talk to, someone who didn't mind Mr. Whale or Tony and who always said kind words and looked at Alfred with warm eyes.

At the same time, though a series of meetings in underground speak-easy's, Alfred had fallen for one Lovino Vargas. The man was all harsh words and flashing, dangerous hazel eyes, a great man wrapped up in a cloud of cigarette smoke and gun powder and the faint scent of alcohol. He would take shots with Alfred at the bar, sing with Alfred along to Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and Nat King Cole, and swing dance with the pretty girls while Alfred watched him with glowing eyes.

When the two of them left, Toris reclaimed by Ivan Braginski and Lovino called home by the promise of war, Alfred broke. For weeks, he refused to eat (everything tasted to dry and bland when compared to the food Toris would make him) or drink alcohol, or even listen to the Rat Pack croon songs in smoky, haze filled rooms. (Because all he could see was auburn hair and hazel eyes and a half smirk that made his blood burn and his heart flutter) Instead, Alfred focused on finishing up the cigarettes that Lovino left behind. Each puff of smoke left him feeling empty. He only returned to his true self after an attack on a naval base in Hawaii sent him reeling into shock induced rage.

From Toris and Lovino, Alfred learned of a type of love that made you want to settle down into it's warmth and raise a family there, and of a type of love that made you feel free and willing to do crazy things for the rush.

Many years passed, in which Alfred found he was uneasy about letting others into his heart. When Yao Wang managed to break into Alfreds heart, through his supposedly impenetrable walls, Alfred could not really do much about it except admit the slightly shameful reason why he loved Yao.

He loved Yao for the mans money. Yao loved Alfred for his money, too, so it was a fair trade. But Alfred felt the relationship was empty and lacking.

And then one day, Alfred realized that he loved Yao for things other then his money. He loved his slight build and his short stature. He loved his soft black hair (so like Mothers but so different, too) and his almond shaped eyes, and even his accent and his way of fighting with a wok. And Alfred loved that despite how fragile the older nation looked that the man was actually rather strong and tough.

Yao taught Alfred a slow type of love, the kind that was patient and developed in time, so slowly you barely noticed it until it happened.

Alfred realized after a long time, that he never stopped loving the people who had left him, and his love for those who stayed had grown, and that there was room in his heart for those who had never held a place there before. And he began to notice little things about everyone that only increased the love of the world that Mother taught him.

Alfred learned that the best way to show his love to all these people as very simple. He could remain smiling for always, even when he was hurting, even when those people he loved were the ones who hurt him. And those who loved him back would see under the strained smile and would reach out to help him, and these were people who deserved twice as much love.

So yes, Alfred was dense and oblivious and stupid and couldn't read read the atmosphere, but he understood love, because he was taught love and he experienced many types of love and he never discriminated love.

Wasn't that all that mattered?

* * *

><p>Hey, let's play a game! It's called, "How-rushed-an-ending-can-Anko-come-up-with"!<p>

Uggghhhhhh this was so awful. Excuse me while I bash the stupidity that cause me to write it out of my head.


End file.
